standing knee high in thrusting grassland

by Allan Padgett

i know i’m in trouble
in this world of rabid
as surrounded by digital stutterings
& mesmerised with rapidity
& heading fast towards a kind of looming
while hoping not too close to morbidity
when i’m reading a story in agjournal
& there’s a picture of a man
in dark & moody glasses
standing in a grazier’s well-bent leaning
in a lanky bright green crop of vetch
built to fatten wagyu
to market to market
& with a stubble chin
& standing knee high in thrusting grassland
& with a handsome disposition
& a smile that nearly edges to a smirk

so i know i’m in trouble
when i place my blistered fingers
on this knee-held paper page
& expand them to enlarge his face
so i can see if he’s got any wrinkles
& if there’s anything in there i truly need
but then the picture stays the same
& i start sobbing
as i gallop fast on crooked knee
to my long-held analogue magnifying glass
& wonder if the precarious neural edge
behind my personal fingie digits
really thought
they could enlarge this paper page
by stretching